


call me a sinner

by allirica



Series: we can be heroes verse [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 17:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allirica/pseuds/allirica
Summary: a series of non-linear snapshots from Allison's POV, mostly focused on her relationship with Bucky and Natasha.***They lied to her.  They betrayed her trust.  It doesn't stop her from loving them, but loving them doesn't stop her from resenting them, either.But they have bigger problems than their relationship falling apart and, like it or not, working with them might be Allison's only shot at getting closure.
Relationships: Allison Argent/James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Stiles Stilinski
Series: we can be heroes verse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1324118
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	call me a sinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/gifts).



> some of the previous Allison POV fic will be reuploaded here, but mostly, this will be non-linear, focusing on her relationships, her work with SHIELD, and her POV of certain events throughout the series so far. Please, please let me know if you like it.
> 
> This first chapter is pure smut, just a fair warning. But somehow *feelings* managed to work there way in there, too.
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS for: explicit sexual content; mild bondage; mention of scars; mention of Allison being stabbed; reference to Stiles being mind-controlled; canon-typical violence (mostly sparring); some angst.

Allison’s jittery.

She knows there’s no reason to be worrying so much. Natasha’s mission is expected to take a minimum of seven days, and she’s only been gone for three. But she’s gone dark for the job and it’s knowing that Allison can’t communicate with her at all – can’t even know where she is, whether she’s okay, until the moment she gets back safely – that has her nerves playing up.

It isn’t the first time one of her partners has gone on a mission without her. Sometimes, it’s both of them that get called in to help with something, and those times, she stresses the most. But this is the first mission longer than a couple of days, the first one where Nat can’t check in with her at all. Logically, Allison knows that Natasha can handle herself. She’s the Black Widow, an Avenger, and one of the best spies in the world – if not _the_ best spy. She’s gone up against aliens and gods, against Hydra and the Winter Soldier, and come out of it not only alive but thriving.

Allison knows that. She has no doubt in Natasha’s ability. But her heart isn’t quite on board with the logic; anxiety over all of the possible variables, all of the unknowns - the possibility of just sheer _bad luck_ \- twists her thoughts around until she can’t sleep. 

She’s in Bucky’s bed and it’s empty next to her; he’d woken up at four in the morning, checked his phone, then pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to her temple when he saw she was awake and quietly dressed before leaving. Allison doesn’t question it. They’d realized the afternoon before that the trail they had JARVIS monitoring was a false lead; Stiles isn’t in Peru. He’s probably nowhere _near_ Peru, not if he’d had them chasing a fake trail there. It’s not surprising that now is one of the times when Steve needs Bucky – needs companionship, needs his best friend and a rational, listening ear to talk him out of his spiral of guilt and grief.

At the thought of Stiles, she squeezes her eyes closed. The scar on her abdomen throbs, but she ignores it. It’s psychosomatic, she knows it is. When working out or training, the scar can get a little tender, but it only hurts like _this_ when she thinks about Stiles. She presses her hand flat on her belly, feeling the slightly raised smoothness of the scar under her palm, and exhales slowly. 

She’s stressed just thinking about Natasha. She has no idea how she would cope if Nat or Bucky completely disappeared after going through what Stiles did, if they just took off without a trace. If she didn’t know whether they were okay – whether they were even _alive_. She loves Stiles; he’s one of her best friends, one of the few people she truly trusts. But she isn’t _in_ love with him, not the way Steve is, and not the way she’s in love with Bucky and Natasha. 

Honestly, she thinks Steve is coping better than she would if she were in his situation. The initial panic – that desperate, frantic energy to Steve, the hardness to his face and the frustration in his voice – when Stiles first left hasn’t left him, exactly; instead, he’s shifted it into sheer stubbornness and determination. Despite Bucky’s careful advice to leave Stiles to do whatever it is he needs to do in order to heal after Julia, Steve’s focus has been on one thing: making sure that Stiles is safe. 

Not that Stiles is making it easy for them. 

Rolling onto her side, she gazes at the floor-to-ceiling window taking up one wall of the bedroom. The shutters are down. Even with the bulletproof glass, Bucky prefers the additional security of the fortified screens at night; he sleeps easier knowing that _nothing_ is getting through that particular defence. They’re designed to block out the sun, so the room is still dark, but Allison knows today is going to be another scorching day. 

It had been a hot, humid night. They’d slept without the blanket, the sheets kicked around their ankles, and a good amount of space between their bodies. Even then, it had been uncomfortably hot, almost stifling, even with the AC. It makes her feel heavy-limbed and sticky and she knows that, between the heat and the jitteriness she can’t shake, she isn’t going to get any sleep.

“JARVIS?” she asks.

“How may I assist you, Miss Argent?” he answers promptly.

“Is the training room free?”

“No one is currently occupying it, but there is a team training simulation scheduled for 10AM.”

Allison glances at the clock; it’s just gone six. Climbing out of bed, she rummages through the spare clothes she keeps in Bucky’s suite, finding a sports bra, yoga shorts and her running shoes, and she dresses quickly, tying her hair back in a knot with an elastic. 

The tower is generally pretty quiet in the mornings. Most of it’s occupants have a tendency to wake up early and usually with an almost militant precision – the kind that Allison just can’t mimic, even with her SHIELD training; she likes her sleep way too much – but most mornings are spent going about their own lives and routines. It’s peaceful.

Today, however, when the elevator doors slide open, she’s surprised to see Tony already inside the car. Dressed down in ratty jeans and a vintage _Black Sabbath_ shirt, he looks exhausted, his gaze on the tablet in his hands. He offers her a nod as she steps into the elevator.

“Gym?” he guesses, and presses the button for the right floor. 

She nods. “Thanks.” Leaning against the wall, Allison raises an eyebrow. “Did you sleep?”

“Did you?” he counters.

She feels a flash of automatic defensiveness and opens her mouth, but then shakes her head slightly. “No,” she admits wryly. “Kept thinking about Natasha. And Stiles. It kept me up all night.”

“Nat will be fine,” he says immediately. “And Stiles…well, as long as he’s leaving false clues to trip up JARVIS’s tracking system, then we know he’s alive, right? So that’s something. Bambi will be fine. He always is.”

Allison thinks about Stiles’s face as the blade slid into her abdomen, thinks about everything Natasha told her about Stiles after he woke up – how he’d seen empty, a ghost of himself. Haunted. And now he’s out there, carrying the weight of his own guilt, dealing with trauma and grief all alone, and they can’t find him. They can’t _help_ him.

“Except when he isn’t,” she says quietly.

Tony exhales. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Except when he isn’t.” 

The elevator stops. The doors open, but Allison doesn’t immediately step out. Instead, she glances at Tony.

“Bucky left earlier,” she says. 

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, JARVIS alerted me. Apparently, Cap completely demolished the reenforced punching bags. I only finished making another twenty of them last week.” There’s no real resentment in his tone, just a weary sort of resignation. “I’ll check in with him later.”

Allison offers a small smile at that. He returns it, giving a lazy flick of his fingers in a wave as she darts through the elevator doors a second before they start to close. The lights come on automatically as she walks into the large space. There aren’t any windows in this room; nothing for the Hulk or Thor to end up smashing during training, and also to maintain privacy. The last thing they need is some news chopper managing to get video footage of the Avengers letting off some steam by wailing on holographic opponents. 

Because of all of the concrete and reenforced material Tony built the room with, the heat is thick and flat, and she sighs in relief when the AC kicks to life, offering some comfort from the stifling temperature. She loves summer, but she hates heatwaves. The sooner the weather breaks and they get a little rain, the better.

Retrieving a strip of cotton handwrap from the small armoury to the side of the main suite, she makes her way over to one of the normal punching bags set up at one end of the room. Thankfully, Steve had left the standard ones alone, though she winces at the thought of all of the reenforced ones being completely destroyed. It was definitely a bad night for Steve. Normally, he only lets go completely when he really needs to vent whatever it is he’s feeling.

Bucky’s the best at helping Steve to work through it. They can go toe-to-toe without Steve having to restrain himself, because he knows Bucky is quick enough and strong enough to not get hurt. Natasha’s almost as good as Bucky; she tends to coax Steve into sparring, letting him work off some steam before she goes in with calculated questions to get him to _talk_ , and then she’s there to listen and help. Bucky’s good because he knows Steve, knows him as well as he knows himself. Natasha’s good because she’s so adept at _seeing_ people, picking them apart to find out what the best approach is, whether it’s to take them down or to help them.

The thought of Natasha has her feeling jittery again, her hands slipping where she’s finishing wrapping her hands, and she lets out a noise of frustration. 

A metal hand gently touches her wrist and she startles slightly, looking up. She hadn’t even heard Bucky come in, hadn’t noticed his presence at all, too caught up in her thoughts. She frowns.

“That kind of inattention will get me killed,” she mutters.

One corner of his mouth curls into a slight smile. “As if I’d ever let that happen,” he replies. His other hand comes up to grip her chin, holding her in place for a kiss. “No one’s gonna hurt you, doll.”

“Cocky,” she remarks. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know,” he agrees. “But I’m still here to watch your back. Just like,” he adds when her eyes narrow slightly, “I know you watch mine whenever we’re in the field together.”

She pauses, then sighs. “Fair point.”

His smile lingers, but his gaze is intense as he watches her for a second. “I love you,” he says. “And I’m protective of the people I love. So if someone’s gonna try and hurt you, I’m gonna want to break their spine. Indulge me.”

Shaking her head, she leans in to kiss him again, then looks down at her hands. He doesn’t let go of her wrist; instead, he silently takes over, wrapping her hands gently but expertly. Smoothing down the Velcro with his thumb, he checks the wraps are secure before finally releasing her, and warmth thrums in her chest.

Stepping away, Allison turns back to the punching bag, adjusts her stance, and lands a solid jab-cross combo to it.

“How’s Steve?” she asks.

“Better,” he replies. “He’s copin’, anyway.”

“Tony says that Stiles has to be alive.”

“Yeah, I said the same thing to Steve.” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, brow furrowing slightly. “He feels like he’s lettin’ him down. Stiles is out there and he isn’t lettin’ anyone help him. Steve’s…plenty torn up over it.”

“Stiles needs space,” Allison says quietly, settling into a rhythm as she punches, a steady _thud-thud-thud_ of her fists against the bag. “You needed the same thing at first. That doesn’t mean he blames Steve. The only person Stiles is beating up right now is himself.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Which is cuttin’ Steve up bad, too. Knowin’ that Stiles is out there, hurtin’, but…”

“He can’t be there for him,” Allison finishes, and he nods.

They lapse into silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Bucky moves closer, stepping up behind Allison, and his body presses close to hers as he adjusts her form, coaxing her to pull her power from her legs for a stronger punch.

“I know how to punch,” she says dryly. 

“I know you do,” he replies. “Which is how I know your heart isn’t in it. Why are you wailin’ on a punching bag if you don’t want to?”

“Because bad guys wait for no one,” she offers flippantly. “Gotta train even if I don’t want to, right?”

He hums. With his front pressed tight against her back, she can feel the vibration of it in his chest, and it has flutters going off low in her belly. 

“What’s got you all twisted up?” he asks, one hand grazing lightly over her side, sliding up until he can tap one finger gently against her temple. “You thinkin’ about Stiles?”

She sighs. “Kinda, yeah. But mostly…it’s Natasha. Her mission. I’m trying not to get all jittery over it, I know she’s fine, but it’s hard not to worry a little. So I figured I’d try and take my mind off it.”

“You need a distraction,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Darlin’,” his voice dips lower, like pure velvet as his lips brush the shell of her ear, and she feels him smile at her shiver. “I can be a _much_ better distraction.”

Her breath hitches slightly. Heat is already pooling in her belly and she swallows when she feels his metal hand press just beneath her collarbones, thumb tracing her clavicle, as his other drifts down to grip her thigh, spreading her legs slightly. It’s sinful how good he is at this, at seducing her, at making her want him so much she _burns_ with it, but she can’t deny that she loves it just as much as she loves him.

His grip loosens when she moves, letting her turn in his hold to face him. Tipping her chin slightly, she meets his gaze and lets her mouth curve into a slow, daring smile.

“Prove it,” she challenges.

Strong hands cup her face and his mouth presses against her own, hot and demanding. She opens her lips to his, letting her own hands fist in his shirt as she kisses him back just as hard, and when she bites on his lower lip – not enough to really _hurt_ , but enough to get his attention and leave his lip red and swollen – a low, throaty sound escapes him, full of pure need. 

His hands slide down her body, fingers lingering on the exposed flesh of her hips, her stomach, trailing down her spine as he explores her without hesitation, pulling away from her mouth briefly to leave a path of kisses down her jaw and neck. He scrapes his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin of her throat and her breath catches, a shiver trembling through her as she tangles her hands in his hair and pulls him even closer. His hands smooth over the curse of her ass, grazing down until he can grip the back of her thighs, lifting her easily, and she wraps her legs around his waist and scrapes her fingernails lightly over his scalp as she tips her head back, giving him better access to her throat.

Her back hits the wall and his body presses tight against her own, a hot, hard weight against her front pinning her to the brick and concrete behind her, and she tightens her legs around him. He teases at her carotid with his tongue and she feels the curve of his smile against her skin when he feels how much her pulse is racing; he presses a soft, almost playful kiss to her flesh before he sucks, hard and relentless. Allison arches into him, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades as a moan catches in her throat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she manages, breathless. “God, _Bucky_ – come on.”

He circles the bruise left in her skin with his tongue before lifting his head to kiss her again. Slowly, he lets her down to her feet but grips her hips, backing her across the room and into the elevator. The second they’re inside and the doors close behind them, he has her against the wall, kissing her hard, and she sinks into it, sliding her hands under his shirt to glide up his stomach, feeling hot skin and toned muscle. 

His tongue rubs against her own in perfect rhythm with the slow, teasing grind of his hips against her and she presses impossibly closer, desperate for more. She feels hot, skin too tight, her body too full of sticky, demanding _want_. Cool metal fingers dance across the back of her neck and she shivers, kissing him deeper, only reluctantly pulling away when the doors open again.

The second they’re inside Bucky’s suite, Allison kicks off her shoes and reaches to pull off her sports bra, but Bucky stops her, snagging her hands in his own. He uses his grip to reel her into another kiss, this time pushing her towards the bedroom as he lets his teeth graze teasingly over her lip and drags his thumbs over the sensitive flesh on the inside of her wrists, eliciting another shudder. She feels goosebumps ripple over her skin, feels that tight, hot throb low in her belly twist with need as he moves one hand to her stomach and pushes lightly, enough to nudge her fully into the bedroom so he can shut the door with his foot, not even glancing at it as he does so, his gaze heavy and intent as he watches her.

This time, he doesn’t stop her when she reaches for her bra. She tosses it aside and peels off her yoga shorts and underwear, leaving herself completely exposed, and the slow drag of his gaze over her makes her feel confident, _wanted_ , like she’s something precious. He steps closer, kissing her slow and sweet. Gripping his shirt, she drags him back towards the bed, then sits on the edge of it. She looks up at him as she cups him through his jeans. Even through the thick denim, she can feel how hard he is, and she smiles as his hips twitch and he inhales sharply, lips parting as he holds her gaze. He reaches down to his belt, unbuckling it and sliding it free from the loops of his jeans. 

But, instead of tossing it aside, he gives it a little firm snap, a question in his eyes.

Something lights up inside of Allison, raw desire sparking down her spine and along her nerves. Raising an eyebrow in a wordless challenge, she smiles and crawls back on the bed, kicking the sheets off to the floor. Bucky removes his shoes but nothing else, kneeling on the mattress, and he straddles her. The sensation of his body, still fully-dressed, against her own bared flesh has Allison pressing her hips up against him. 

“Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice rough with his arousal, and Allison can’t help but give him a cheeky grin.

“Oh, baby,” she says softly. “You think this is the first time I’ve been tied up?”

She and Scott had tried out plenty of stuff, but, mostly, she’s thinking about Natasha, about the handcuffs and blindfolds and luxurious silk scarves they’ve tried out in the bedroom. Bucky tilts his head slightly, clearly thinking about it too, and Allison’s smile widens as she rocks up against him again, slow and teasing. 

“I like to do the tying up, too,” she adds casually, and he smiles.

“Good.” Leaning down, he kisses her, brief but slick. “Question still stands.”

Warmth unspools in her chest at that. Reaching up to run her thumb over her lower lip, she holds his gaze as she promises, “I trust you.”

She feels a little tremor run through him in response, watches as he closes his eyes for a second, mouth curving into a small, soft smile, just for her. God, she really is ridiculously in love with this man. She rolls her hips again, a little more impatient this time, demanding, and waits for him to look at her again before she lifts her arms until her hands are above her head.

The sensation of the belt is thrilling, cool leather against her skin as he binds her wrists in a single column tie. But he leaves enough slack, enough give that she could slip free if she truly wanted to – she knows the right angle already, knows exactly how to shift her wrist, rotate, and pull to escape. She doesn’t want to, but she appreciates it all the same, and she keeps her bound wrists above her, fingers curling around the slats in the headboard.

He presses his metal hand to her belly. It isn’t cold, exactly; the room is boiling and the contact with her flesh has heated the metal a little, but it’s still cool, still a contrast to the sticky, muggy heat, and she shivers as he moves it up, tracing her ribcage. His fingers ghost over her breast, teasingly close to her nipple, before sliding up over her collarbones, along the column of her throat to drift along the curve of her jaw. His fingers fit against her cheek, his thumb brushing against her lower lip as he gazes down at her.

She lets her tongue flick out before she parts her lips and takes the tip of his thumb into her mouth. She lets it rest on her tongue, holding his gaze, tasting the sharpness of metal and the salt of the sweat from her own skin. His breath catches, his pupils blown wide as she tips her head slightly, exposing the line of her throat, and then sucks on the tip of his thumb. Slowly, with a drag of her tongue and her lips against his hand, she releases him and rests her head back against the pillow.

“Can you feel that?” she murmurs. “Feel _me_?”

He nods once. “I can feel the heat,” he replies, voice thick. “I can feel you.”

She smiles. “Good. So,” she stretches out, languid, and asks, “Are you gonna fuck me already?”

He laughs a little, low and throaty, and grips her chin, dipping down to kiss her. “Doll,” he replies softly. “I’m gonna make you come so hard that the only thing you’re thinking about for the rest of the day…” he kisses her again, tugs lightly on her lip with his teeth. “…is _me_.”

“ _Fuck_.”

He grins, pleased, and sits back, tugging his shirt off. Tossing it to the floor, he moves to cover her body with his own, his jeans scratching lightly against her thighs as he runs his tongue along her clavicle, drawing a shiver from her. His right hand slides down her front, teasing down her belly, his fingers _barely_ brushing against where she wants him the most before he shifts to caress her thigh instead, teeth nipping lightly at her throat.

“Bucky,” she breathes. “Come on.”

Pressing his smile against her jaw, he rubs his thumb against her clit, slow, and her hips flex slightly off the bed, her thighs parting wider as she moans. He pushes up slightly on one elbow so he can watch her face as he keeps going, holding a steady, torturous pace that has pleasure twisting inside her but not _enough_. The need burning inside her isn’t sated by the tease of his thumb and she tips her head back, a pleading sound catching in her throat.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs. “Look at you. You’re perfect.”

“ _James_ ,” she moans.

He swallows, hips flexing against her. “I love it when you say my name like that. Fuck, sweetheart. I can’t believe you’re mine. I love you so damn much.”

She looks at him from beneath her lashes, biting her lip as he strokes a little faster. “I love you too.”

He kisses her, keeps rubbing his thumb against her as his fingers dip lower, teasing. He slides one finger inside her, his breath hitching in synchronisation with her low, pleased moan. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, almost reverent, and she laughs a little.

“Well, you know how to tease.”

He grins. “You like it when I tease.”

She hooks her ankle between both of his and he flexes his legs slightly to spread hers wider, holding her like that as he adds a second finger. He kisses her as she rocks her hips slightly, finding their rhythm together as he fucks her, and she sighs against his mouth when he reaches the pace that has her back arching slightly, little sparks of pleasure shivering through her. His fingers curl inside her, moving at just the right angle, and she’s not embarrassed by how loudly she moans, pressing up for more. He keeps rubbing at her clit with his thumb as he rocks his fingers inside her, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin of her throat as he sucks another mark there.

“James,” she gasps. “Oh god – _fuck_. James -.”

He shifts to look at her again, gaze intent on her face. “You’re breath-taking,” he says, tone low and tender. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

She comes with a breathless cry, arching slightly off the mattress. He keeps her legs pinned with his own, keeping her spread, and he keeps going until she’s quivering and twisting on the bed, sensitive and on the edge of overwhelmed as the pleasure keeps searing through her, leaving her gasping for breath. 

He kisses her, soft and sweet, and she leans up into it, humming slightly in happiness at the contact. The fingers of his metal hand brush gentle caresses against her jaw and cheekbone and she savours the touch, still shivering slightly as she catches her breath. When she opens her eyes, she offers him a smile, and he returns it with one that is full of pure masculine satisfaction. Laughing, she shakes her head slightly.

“Don’t get cocky,” she says. “Let’s see how you react when I blow you.”

Interest flickers across his face, but he dips down, kissing her. “Later, maybe,” he murmurs. “I want to go down on you.”

The thought of his mouth on her while she’s still a little sensitive from her first mind-shattering orgasm makes her swallow, renewed desire kindling in her belly, but she wraps her legs tight around him when he moves to slide down the bed, squeezing tight to hold him in place. He sags against her obligingly, accepting the kiss she presses to his jaw.

“That,” he says. “Should not be as attractive as it is.”

She grins. “What, gripping you with my legs? I have strong thighs.”

Heat flares in his eyes. “I’m well aware.” 

“And Nat’s taught me plenty of ways to use them,” she adds. “Both on the mat and on the mattress.”

His mouth curves into a slight smile. “I’ve ended up between Black Widow’s thighs plenty often,” he agrees. “Right now, though…I want to be between yours. I want to taste you.”

She squeezes again and he groans slightly in appreciation. She knows he could easily break her grip if he wanted to, but he doesn’t; just like how she still has her bound wrists held above her on the bed. 

“I want you inside me,” she says. “I want you to fuck me, James.”

He breathes in sharply, hips rocking against hers, and, slowly, she releases her grip from him to spread her legs instead, holding his gaze the entire time. She watches as he moves back to take off his jeans, tossing them onto the discarded sheets on the floor, and then he covers her again, body hot and hard against her own as he kisses her. 

She sucks hard on his lip, hitching one knee up over his hip to rock up against him, and they both tremble slightly at the tease of contact. He keeps kissing her, focused entirely on stealing her breath and leaving her wanting more even as he reaches over to open the nightstand, taking out a foil packet. She listens to the quiet crackle as he opens it and he pulls back the slightest amount, the tips of their noses brushing as he gazes at her. She wants to touch, wants to stroke him, tease him like he did her, but she wants him inside of her even more and her hands are bound, so all she can do is lean up to kiss him again, fiery and encouraging, as he gets himself ready.

When Bucky grabs one of the pillows, she lifts her hips, letting him slide it underneath her. She hitches her knees higher over his hips, lips parting on a quiet sigh as he enters her in one hot, slow stroke. 

“God,” she breathes. “ _Yes_.”

He buries his face against her neck, mouthing there as he rocks his hips minutely, and then pulls back to look at her, cradling her face in his metal hand. Turning her head slightly, she presses a kiss to the centre of his palm. 

“Come on,” she encourages. “Didn’t you say something about making me come so hard -.”

She doesn’t get to finish. He kisses the rest of the words out of her mouth as he starts to _really_ move, fucking her slow and deep, grinding in circles that has pleasure sparking up her spine. At this angle, with the pillow under her, he’s able to go deeper and she moves to meet each thrust, craving more even as he picks up the pace. His lips trail over her cheekbone and jaw before ghosting over the shell of her ear, and when he starts murmuring pure, gorgeous filth, she can’t help but moan loudly, toes curling, heat twisting inside her. 

She finally moves her arms. Her wrists are bound by the belt, but she can loop her arms over his shoulders and tangle her fingers in his hair. She pulls his face against her neck, pressing her own mouth against his shoulder as she wraps her legs tightly around his waist, using the leverage to pull him down, to pull him _in_ as he fucks her, and she’s rewarded by a throaty groan and his muscles tensing as he snaps his hips faster.

“Fuck,” she pants. “Oh god. _James_.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “C’mon. I’ve got you.”

Their bodies are pressed tightly together, but he manages to get his hand between them, fingers circling her clit in rhythm with his thrusts, and she feels herself start to tense up, her thighs shaking as she approaches the edge. He pulls back to watch her, lips catching slightly on hers, and the look in his eyes is what does it. For a second she can’t breathe, can’t speak, can only cling to him and shake, and then she’s shouting his name, back arching. He keeps going, keeps moving, and it makes the moment stretch out until she’s almost dizzy with it, until she makes a soft almost-whimper and he slows, giving her time to recover.

All she can do is wrap herself around him, pressing as close to him as possible as she shakes and tries to catch her breath. He strokes her hair back from her damp face, kissing gently at her temple, the corner of her mouth, her jaw, his fingers tender as they map out her cheekbones and jaw. It takes her a minute to finally stop trembling and open her eyes, still a little breathless, and he holds her gaze for a moment, expression so affectionate that it makes her heart ache perfectly before he brushes a kiss to her mouth.

“James,” she whispers, drifting her fingers down his neck. “Come on.”

He rolls his hips slightly, almost absently, as he kisses her again and she smiles into it, nudging his thigh with her knee.

“Come on,” she repeats softly. “I want you to come. I want to feel it.”

A quiet moan, his shoulders tensing and relaxing under her touch, and he starts to move properly again. Allison tries to meet his pace despite the fact that she feels a little boneless from her own orgasm, and when she feels him getting close, she bites down gently on the shoulder of his flesh arm and _squeezes_ , grateful that the Pilates really has paid off, and he groans, rhythm stuttering until he goes still, deep inside her as he shivers slightly, gasping out against the skin of her throat.

For a moment, they both just lie there, wrapped up in each other. Then, slowly, gently, he pulls out, disposing of the condom. When he joins her again, he looks down at her, a smile curving on his mouth as he strokes his thumb across her swollen lips. 

“Gorgeous,” he says.

She hums, dropping her arms back down above her head. “Good distraction.”

He laughs slightly, fingers drifting idly over her ribs. “Darlin’,” he murmurs. “I’m nowhere _near_ done with you yet.”

***

Later – much later – they stand in Bucky’s shower together. Or, rather, Bucky stands. Allison’s beyond sated, boneless and a little sore but in the best possible way, and she’s exhausted, slumping against Bucky as they let the water pour over them both. He holds her up easily, hands gentle as he washes her, and when he massages shampoo into her hair she closes her eyes, practically turning into putty under his touch. She hears him hum slightly and smiles, though she doesn’t open her eyes.

“Stop it,” she warns.

A quiet laugh. “Stop what?”

“You’re smirking.”

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I still know you’re smirking,” she replies. “Congratulations, you made me come so hard I forgot my own name. Don’t get cocky about it.”

“Cocky? No. Satisfied…very. But, mostly,” he dips down, kissing just underneath her ear. “I’m _pleased_.”

“Oh, I could tell.”

He laughs again, pressing a proper kiss to her mouth, heedless of their wet skin. When they finish, Allison dries off and ties her damp hair in a French braid, but she doesn’t bother with clothes. She barely manages to wait for Bucky to put fresh sheets on the bed before she’s crawling into it, exhausted. She feels better for the shower, the water having sluiced away the sweat and stickiness on her skin, and the AC is running, keeping her cool as she gets comfortable.

“You have team training, right?” she asks around a yawn.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, walking his fingers down her spine. “I’ll skip it.”

“I’m just gonna sleep,” she says. “You don’t have to stay.”

“No. But I _want_ to stay.”

She smiles a little at that. Closing her eyes, she lets the rhythmic brush of metal fingers against her skin lull her into sleep.

***

When she wakes, it’s late afternoon and the bedroom is empty. But she can hear movement in the suite, so she doesn’t rush as she climbs out of bed and pulls on a pair of underwear and one of Bucky’s shirts.

She finds him in the kitchen, chopping up fruit, and he tips his head for the kiss she gives him. Hopping up onto the island, Allison watches him make quick work of slicing strawberries, biting her sore lip slightly. There’s something about Bucky handling knives that is undeniably attractive. But there’s also something about him in the kitchen that is comforting, and warmth unspools inside her chest.

He wordlessly holds a piece of strawberry up to her lips as she takes it, savouring the burst of sweetness on her tongue. She’s starving. She has no idea what he’s making, but just the sight of the fruit has her stomach rumbling. He smiles slightly, feeding her another strawberry before he continues prepping what he needs, his movements steady, efficient. Calm.

“Does it not stress you out?” she asks after a moment. “Not knowing if she’s okay?”

“Stressing won’t change the situation,” he replies evenly. “All I can do is wait and trust that she’ll come back to me – to _us_ – safe.” 

“So you never worry? When Nat or I are on a mission?”

He smiles slightly. “I never said that.” Setting down the knife, he wipes his hands and steps closer, resting his hands on her hips. “When I heard about what happened with Grant Ward, that he tried to throw you out of a window – when I realized that you’d nearly _died_ , I put my fist straight through a wall.”

Allison blinks. “I bet Tony wasn’t impressed.”

“Actually, he was. The arm is tech. He likes tech and he likes to see it in action. Besides, he was curious.”

She frowns slightly. “Why?”

“Because I normally have excellent control.” His thumbs rub little circles on her hips as he glances away, gaze going distant for a moment. “I have to. Not just because of the serum, or because of the arm – though, yeah, I gotta be careful with those, too. But because, even with the trigger words gone, I know that if I let myself spiral, I could so easily lose control. I refuse to let that happen. I’m dangerous. I was forged into a weapon and, when it matters, when I _have_ to, I let myself be a weapon again. But I never lose control. Not in combat, not in the field, not ever. But knowin’ that I’d almost lost you… _that_ made me lose control.”

She swallows, taken off guard. “Oh.”

“Tasha talked me down,” he continues quietly. “Then I was just worried about you. Especially ‘cause you were shuttin’ us out.”

Allison winces. “Right.”

“I worry, doll,” he says softly. “Tasha does, too. We know and trust each other. We know we can handle ourselves. But when someone you love is willingly walkin’ into danger without you there to back them up…yeah, you worry. The key is to not let that worry take over your life.”

She mulls that over for a moment. “And how do you do that?”

“Distraction,” he offers with a sly grin. “It works pretty well, you gotta admit. But also just livin’ my life. Sticking to routine. Talkin’ to someone, if I need to. It helps. And it gets easier.”

Allison hums. “I think I like the distraction method the best.”

His smile widens. “I noticed.”

She groans. “Oh god.”

“Yeah, that was one of the things you moaned,” he agrees. “Along with _James_ and _don’t stop, don’t_ -.”

“You’re such an ass.”

Laughing, he leans in to kiss her, tasting the lingering sweetness on her mouth. “Yeah. I love you, though.”

She smiles, bumping their noses together affectionately. “I love you too.”

***

After they eat, and after an attempt at watching a movie, Allison goes back to bed, still tired. She falls asleep on Natasha’s side of the bed, half-hugging her pillow, and she sleeps comfortably, dreamlessly.

She only wakes when she feels the bed dip. It’s night, but she isn’t sure what time it is; she can sense that the bed is empty behind her, so Bucky hasn’t come in yet. But the fingers that brush a few stray locks of hair away from Allison’s face are familiar and she sighs slightly, relaxing.

“You’re back early,” she murmurs.

“I finished sooner than anticipated,” Natasha replies. “After all, I had a good incentive.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I missed you.”

Allison smiles, looking up at Natasha in the darkness. “I missed you too. A lot, actually.”

“I know. Bucky told me.” Natasha leans down, pressing her lips to Allison’s forehead. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“It’s okay. He helped.”

She laughs a little at that. “Yeah, he told me that, too. Kind of annoyed I missed out on that, actually.”

“Well. There’s always tomorrow.”

Natasha smiles. “Yeah,” she agrees. “There is. Go back to sleep, любимая.”

“Stay.”

Despite still being dressed, Natasha shifts to lie down, facing Allison on the bed. She kisses her properly, just a soft, sweet brush of their lips – a _hello, I missed you_ and a _welcome home_ ; a _love you_ in one gentle touch, and Allison closes her eyes, content.

**Author's Note:**

> любимая = "beloved".
> 
> I'm also planning to start writing a series of other snapshots too, which will be little extras from the series that didn't actually make it into the main fics, various scenarios, and other characters POVs, so we get to see how Steve and others coped during Stiles's absence. 
> 
> For this series, I'm taking prompts. So if there is anything specific you'd like to see, please feel free to leave me a prompt either in a comment here or on my tumblr: allirica.tumblr.com. 
> 
> Thank you!


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